


Uroboros

by Breakthefixed



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Classics, Domestic Fluff, Escape, I just need cute things because I'm still crying for the finale, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Finale, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:17:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5244620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Breakthefixed/pseuds/Breakthefixed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where everything moved, evolved, transformed with intemperate celerity, and nothing remained still, Hannibal touched Will. Time and again. He descended from the temple with kind cruelty, followed admiringly the scar on the cheek half concealed by the beard he had let free to grow in the past months, traced with longing the curve of his full lips. There would have been a future and truer version of Will a sequential instant, Hannibal was absolutely cognizant, as if of the fact that the touch would have only hastened the metamorphosis. They would have never been there again in this life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uroboros

> **Uroboros**
> 
> /ˌjʊərə(ʊ)ˈbɒrəs/
> 
> (noun)
> 
> 1\. A circular symbol depicting a snake, or less commonly a dragon, swallowing its tail, as an emblem of wholeness or infinity.
> 
> 2\. A symbol for cyclicality especially in the sense of something constantly re-creating itself, the eternal return, the phoenix or the periodical Nature of the Universe: creation out of destruction, Life out of Death.

 

 

In the end they kissed. Their set free impulses induced them in the mortal and mundane but mysteriously so still elysian and divine. Once, one hundred times, one thousand, one hundred and once again, they both lost the count in their own measure of time.

An encounter of deeply harmonious opposites grounding the perfect amity and the total macrocosm in sempiternal becoming was their first osculation, a chaste and soft brush of lips bursting with the purity which endowed from the first instant their entanglement. In a spiritual way, healing and ambrosial unity and original totality.

Soon after, only their foreheads and bodies were touching, warm breaths clashing.

 

For Will it was blur of fine lines between a unique entity and after their figurative death, even form; and at the same an ecstatic focus on lips, skin, hearts, blood and abstractions including feelings and mental activities. If he hadn't made a pact with the devil right before the fall when they were embracing and nuzzling, the profiler reasons, then it was surely happening whilst clinging tighter and tighter to Hannibal and leaning in to smile peacefully against his smooth bruised lips. Never a moment has been so bright, high and yet fleeting, never he had implored it to linger a while with _that_ exertion _._

Because of a bare necessity inborn in his psyche, ruin and shattering wouldn't strike him with awe, when they would subsequently reach him. He signed the deal with the blood on their lips, desperate for and accustomed with human contact as he had never been before.

 

During the fragment of imaginary time ungoverned by the laws of physics, Hannibal felt the arrow of time turn in the contrary sense and so did the psychological and the cosmological ones. It was possible to conjure up their forthcoming futurity in lieu of their past – the betrayal and the refusal among the other things – while the universe suddenly started collapsing on itself to finally reach the maximum order: beginning and end in a sublime pulchritudinous symmetry (despite the unreality) created by their godlike powers.

Will's growing demands were driven by vicious curiosity, urgency, persistence, hunger and starvation for too much time spent in blue solitude. It only made Hannibal allow him in more, impuissant like an unmovable object facing an unstoppable force that is the cluster of umpteen feelings replacing the antithetical deprivation and isolation, chiefly from Will, of the last three years. Glad to be desired, placid for his concrete presence right where Hannibal required him to be.

 

Perhaps it was because in their own universe entropy decreases and order grows that their kiss didn't come to be messy, confused and faulty even with the crescendo of frenzy and dionysian desire when they initiated to really devour each other.

 

****

 

The heart that Hannibal had held out to Will was huge, thick but tender. To some extent, still rupturing with the principle of life and passions, seeing that a few hours ago they had extracted it from the barber who had recently been rude to Will. That was their second homicide together, after numerous months idled away in the halcyon stillness, akin to a reverie, of their provisional dwelling.

Without any wavering and reluctance, the profiler grasped the organ to deposit it on the cutting board, allowing by design their hands to caress flickeringly - they had made it thousand times in a few months, but oh, every time parts of the cosmos are generated and corrupted -; the spectre of a prying smirk on his lips. A loud silence had fallen between them, encompassing their ultimate realness, pure selves and transmundane essence.

 

“You have always had in hand my own heart. It preserves my image of you, the most genuine portraiture. See how deep down have you came to be?” The open-hearted words, a declaration of unhampered and ineffable feelings, hover in the poetical air around them after elapsing from Hannibal's mouth, impregnated with wonder, honesty and exposure.

 

“I see. On occasion I think of carving your heart out from your chest with my bare hands, because I am aware that you won't oppose.” Will replied, catching his lover's eye. He pierced through Hannibal as the knife he had taken and held in his hand could have done. Yearning to comprehend the pieces of his mystery limited by Nature to a human being in the same manner that Eve ate the forbidden fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, except that Satan incited him to fall a lot of time ago. Potent, almighty although fatal Will. He sliced firmly the human meat, cleaning perfectly every piece from connective tissues and valves.

 

“Would it feel good with your teeth in my heart, Will?” He deliberately lingered with dedication on the last syllables to bask in the mirth of owning the profiler. There were a vaguely inflamed simper forming on his lips and a captivated, blissful light in his eyes as he departed from the sautéing pan on the burners, reaching out for his beloved. They proceeded communicating unconsciously and consciously through their enduring mutual eye gaze.

Hannibal was willing to do everything Will wanted: he could even have let Will destroy his heart, if it was beneficial to understand the nature of his feelings. Likewise, if Will had decided to throw his heart down, unveiling again that they didn't experience the same appetite, he would have acquiesced willingly.

 

“Do you really need to ask?” The remark carelessly dived in the sameness and ostensible power which Will was lastly getting more and more. The bodies of the two men were closer so that they almost touched. Task ended, Will dropped the knife.

 

“The motif of the eaten heart has very antique and ceremonial origins but it has become popular only with the Middle Age's literature. In the Vita Nova, Dante dreams of Beatrice eating hesitantly his alive and burning heart”

 

“And then, she begins to weep before ascending in Love's arms.” After bringing to completion the well-known quote, Will separated its complex symbolism out, discerning how much it mirrored the phase of their relationship they were in: growing awareness of another person's love, sorrow of beginning to experience that consuming and deleterious feeling too, reluctance and then acceptance or even a prelude to death, or possibly both. He seized it in an impromptu and effortless fashion, as though rushing in his own forma mentis or Hannibal's one wasn't discrete at all.

 

“My feelings towards you and death aren't any more unsought. I only wonder if our hearts could become united in a such touchable way.” He gave out the response, anticipating any question he could have been posed.

 

“Even now they do, they always have been. In accordance with the arithmetic of amorousness, one plus one equals one.” He conjured up, expressing a calculated affection for his mirror image standing in front of him. Mayhap it was the validation of the certainty Will was groping in the dark, considering that Hannibal felt their hands join up before long, a contact drifting simultaneously to unity and mutual destruction. He reciprocated the grip and closed his eyes for an instant to abandon himself fully to the sensory perception hitting his brain, taking pleasure in all of it. He sighed slowly.

 

“You are me, Hannibal”

  
****

 

  
The parlour was the most considerable room, with its perfect equation of order and chaos, the juxtapositions, the eerie air and the total alikeness to Hannibal's former office.

When they weren't exploring the corporeal side of their relation or murdering someone jointly they would sit on the black leather armchairs facing each other, no mental distance drawing them apart and verbalize every reflection, argumentation, view, fancy or sentiment. The tête-à-tête would have no end in time and space and all the same it would be short-termed and exhaustible, fervent and collected.

Sooner or later one of them would reach physically the other or they both all at once would fall silent, drawing a blank on the topic they were arguing and leaning forward.

 

****

  
  
From the moment they had fallen down the cliff, immersing themselves in the dark and abyssal waters provoking the oblivion and the beginning of a new, more crooked life, Hannibal had commenced cogitating more and more about the transience of the moment and the way they were even more, eternally on the calling edge of death. It came without any resigned dread, but rather with the gentle sadness and profane appreciativeness of what is doomed to fall congruous to a man who was created in the image and likeness of the Devil.

 

In a world where everything moved, evolved, transformed with intemperate celerity, and nothing remained still, Hannibal touched Will. Time and again. He descended from the temple with kind cruelty, followed admiringly the scar on the cheek half concealed by the beard he had let free to grow in the past months, traced with longing the curve of his full lips. There would have been a future and truer version of Will a sequential instant, Hannibal was absolutely cognizant, as if of the fact that the touch would have only hastened the metamorphosis. They would have never been there again in this life.

 

The consumption of life force through the sexual intercourse leaded them to the spiritual release, transcendence of the little death, wakening of the conscience after pure, short-lived void. Both pleased with their nakedness, half covered by the black satin sheet in a supreme chromatic opposition with their skins, they could concede themselves a glimpse of tenderness on the grounds that some minutes before they had thirstily undressed each other, discharged the assembled tension, roughly marked skin. Will would ease his head down on Hannibal's chest, Hannibal's free arm would enclose Will's waist, keeping a firm hold on him without any end or premeditation.

 

“Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus rumoresque senum severiorum omnes unius aestimemus assis. Soles occidere et redire possunt: nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux, nox est perpetua una dormienda.” Hannibal speaked in an undertone, withdrawed Will's face to caress his deranged curls. Will narrowed elatedly his cherishing eyes. A plenitude of warmth radiated from his chest as blood spilled in the water due to the poem he had heard, albeit he hadn't grasped the utter content considering that his knowledge of Latin, subject he hadn't studied at the university, was only pertinent to forensic science. Thus he ventured,“Is that Catullus?”

 

“Yes, Will.” He cracked an undisguised smirk as he reiterated his soft touches. “Do you want me to transliterate it?”

 

The response didn't come verbally but rather with a slight nod. Will then upraised a hand up to caress the fingerprints left on Hannibal's neck when he had asphyxiated him heretofore, a gesture permeated with a delicateness so unusual that it was almost mystifying.

 

“Let us live, my Lesbia and love, and the rumours of the stern old men let us value all just one penny. Suns may set and rise again: when the brief light has set with us once, we must sleep an eternal night.”

 

With the repetition of those words, he expressed his sincere desire towards every fragment contained in their past's way, in their future and in the one at the crossroad between the two, the present. While touching the imprint of his own teeth on his lover's shoulder, he caught the eternity in the heart of the fleetingness and deified the worldliness: everything would come to existence and die ad infinitum, always identical to itself and contemporaneously dissimilar.

 

He had never found their coupling lovelier. Will now chiselled from the finest marble in which he had been discerned and thereafter refined to unload his strength, reaching the auto-affirmation and expressing wholly his unique potential. Transcendental, the choicest of his kind for intelligence, demeanour and deeds but paradoxically too human, susceptible, limited.

He, Hannibal who had been always rendering himself an oeuvre d'art via the use of every tincture at his disposal and was the one to watch Will drowse, serener than ever in the arms of the monster under his bed. They, two lonely individualities that bound in every circumstance only together, dominated by nothing except their volitions. Both conscious of the satisfaction of destruction and constructed order.

 

Both capable to cut off the head of the serpent that eats its own tail when it would be the proper moment.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Sources of the definition:  
> \- http://www.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/english/uroboros  
> \- http://www.tokenrock.com/explain-ouroboros-70.html
> 
> **The poem of Catullus: lines 1-6 of Poem 5
> 
> I'd really appreciate if you leave a comment!


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